


Guess Who

by Minuialeth75



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Christmas, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-24
Updated: 2012-12-24
Packaged: 2017-11-22 06:22:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/606775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Minuialeth75/pseuds/Minuialeth75
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even the simple things like gift-guessing took a whole another dimension with Sherlock.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Guess Who

**Author's Note:**

> Christmassy fluff!

It was one o'clock in the morning. Both John and Sherlock were sitting in their respective chairs by the roaring fire.  
John was feeling the slight buzz of several drinks but he was far from being drunk. Just enough to make him feel content. Or maybe it was just the company.  
Sherlock didn't look drunk. Sherlock _never_ looked drunk, unless he pretended to be for a case. He wondered if Sherlock had ever gotten truly plastered, seeing as it would mean losing control of his precious well-oiled brain. Though knowing Sherlock's annoying habit of never behaving as expected, he was probably able to drink anyone under the table despite his light build.

Mrs Hudson had been the last guest to leave the flat because she had insisted on cleaning and tidying up a bit. John had given her a hand since she had already helped with decorating the flat, while Sherlock insisted that the custom was ridiculous, and that having his usual décor changed perturbed his thinking.  
John suspected that he had just wanted a way out of helping them, because he had caught Sherlock shooting appreciative glances around the flat now and then in the past week.

Right now, the man facing him rather looked like a petulant five-year-old.

'Why did I have to wait until everyone was gone to open my presents?' 

Yep, Sherlock definitely sounded like a sulking kid. 'You know very well why.'

'But you opened yours!'

'Because _I_ don't make people cry when _I_ open my presents.'

'It was a long time ago. I've changed. Besides, why did you let me open your gift?'

'So you wouldn't pout for the whole evening.'

'I don't pout,' Sherlock retorted, his lips forming said pout. Then he saw John trying to suppress an amused smirk and he forced his mouth into a more neutral line.

'Sure you don't.'

Sherlock tried for an exasperated expression but somehow it ended in one lip corner slightly lifting up. Perhaps Sherlock was a bit tipsy too, after all. That could explain why he had taken off his suit jacket, and rolled up his sleeves after a few minutes of sitting by the fire.  
John was trying hard not to stare because for all his appearing very slender, Sherlock had rather well-developped forearms. He'd been trying not to stare at Sherlock _in that way_ for quite a while now, but the alcohol he had consumed tonight wasn't helping him in this already daunting task. Sherlock _couldn't_ notice. Nothing would come out of it and things would become awkward.

Sherlock picked up one of the packages from the floor by his chair.

'Lestrade,' he declared after what seemed barely a second. 'A tie. Really? He's even more unobservant than I thought.'

'How can you possibly know all this so quickly?' John couldn't help but ask, genuinely curious. He knew he would never stop asking, never stop marvelling at the man facing him.

Sherlock was pleased of course, even if it showed only through a flicker in his eyes, and the ghost of a smile on his lips. He knew John wasn't just humouring him. John _really_ wanted to know.

'Obvious. The brown paper used to wrap the gift is also used to wrap the parcels at the Yard. Here, you can spot two fingerprints made by Lestrade's right thumb and index. Assuredly some grease from his favourite doughnuts. The shape of the package is long and narrow, it's light and flexible: it's a tie, no doubt sporting some kind of horrendous pattern, given that Lestrade bought it only this morning, so it was probably one of the last unexpensive ties left in the shop.'

John shook his head with a smile. Even the simple things like gift-guessing took a whole another dimension with Sherlock. 'But you _never_ wear ties.'

'Hence my remark about Lestrade being unobservant.' Sherlock made to put the gift back on the floor.

'You aren't opening it?'

Sherlock shot John a look. 'You might want to scar your retinas with an atrocious tie, John, but I don't.'

John chuckled. 'You realise you're going to have to wear that tie at least once to please Lestrade?'

Sherlock's expression could easily have been read as 'over my dead body, and I'm not easy to kill'.  
He let the brown package drop on the floor and grasped another present wrapped in pretty paper. He looked over at John, one eyebrow rising.

'What can you deduce about this gift?'

John pictured his brain as a hamster running its arse off in a wheel. While he really appreciated being the only person Sherlock ever asked to do this, it wasn't the most pleasant sensation. 'Er, it's from a woman?'

'This much is obvious since the two remaining gifts are from either Mrs Hudson or Molly' Sherlock completely missed John's startled expression. 'It's from Mrs Hudson, and it's a jumper that I will never wear because not only I never wear jumpers, but it's two sizes too small.'

'Now you're making that up.'

Sherlock sighed. 'You should know by now that I never make anything up.'

John snorted. 'Unless you're lying through your teeth.'

'This is not relevant right now. Both the ornate feminine paper and the neatly-made package point to a woman. The paper faintly smells of Mrs Hudson's perfume.'

'But the too-small jumper?'

'I was not finished, John. The package is as flexible as the previous one, but much thicker and heavier. I can feel the cable stitch through the paper, so it's a woollen jumper. But the size of the package is too small for the jumper to be my size. The jumper is for you.'

'Wha... why?'

'Mrs Hudson's vengeance, of course.'

'What are you on about?'

'Three weeks ago, you worked full time at the surgery for a whole week because of the flu epidemic.'

'Oh god, don't remind me of this. I thought I'd never see the end of it. But what is...'

'Patience, John. I had two experiments I had wanted to conduct for a while but the perfect circumstances had never been reunited.'

'By that you mean that you were waiting for me to be so busy I wouldn't notice that you were trying to blow our flat up.'

'No explosives were involved.' John's face was the epitome of disbelief. 'No explosives strong enough to damage our flat in any significant way,' Sherlock reluctantly amended with a dismissive gesture. 

'I can't believe I didn't notice you were carrying out dangerous experiments that week. The flat was as usual when I came back in the evenings.'

'That's because Mrs Hudson was cleaning every day.'

'You made her clean your mess every single day?'

'I didn't make her do anything. She came the very first day because of the slightly peculiar smell in the stairs, and she offered to clean up before you came back from the surgery.'

'Because she knew I'd be too knackered to clean after you when I came back!'

Sherlock opted for a shrug. 'This is the reason why she's not offering me anything but giving you two presents this year.'

He leant forward to give the package to John. This was far from the first time that their hands were touching, but this time John was aware of every millimetre of his skin brushing Sherlock's as the later transferred the gift into his hands. Maybe he had drunk more alcohol than he had realised. Or maybe his tolerance level was lower than it used to be.

John tried to open the gift as delicately as possible because it was obvious it had been wrapped with a lot of care. Inside was a white cable knit woollen jumper that looked a lot like the one he no longer dared to wear no matter how much he liked it, because it was a stitch away from coming apart. He held the jumper up and indeed, it was his size and not Sherlock's.

'It was really meant for me.'

'Of course it was.'

'I didn't know Mrs Hudson knitted so well.'

Sherlock snorted. 'She doesn't. She bought it.'

'But, I'd swear I saw knitting needles at her flat on several occasions.'

'Oh, she does have knitting needles.'

'But what for if she doesn't knit?'

'I pity the ill-advised individuals who will try to burgle her flat.'

John's eyebrows shot up to his hairline. 'Do I want to know?'

Sherlock smirked. 'Probably not.' He picked up the last present from the floor. 'I have to say I'm a bit disappointed. I was under the impression that Molly and Lestrade were about to engage in the tedious activity of dating...'

'What?!'

'Oh come on John, it's obvious.' Sherlock frowned. 'I'm afraid I'll never truly understand sentiment. It's apparent from this package that Molly still harbours feelings for me, and that those feelings are strong: carefully chosen paper, meticulous wrapping. The gift is a book, probably something she thinks will interest me, though I highly doubt she can guess what can truly capture my mind.'

Driven by curiosity, Sherlock wasn't as careful as John had been with the unwrapping of his gift. 'It's a hand copied book. On forgotten poisons.' There was a hint of awe in his voice. 'It's at least three centuries old, John.' Sherlock gingerly opened the book as he talked. 'No one has ever achieved to really please me with a present but she...'. There was a post-it note on the flyleaf that read _Your friend, always. John._ 'Oh. _Oh_.'

Very few things were capable of rendering Sherlock completely speechless for a length of time. John Watson had just been added to their very short list.

Sherlock looked up at long last and his sharp eyes set upon the man facing him. He hadn't thought that John's face could turn this shade of red.

'I thought you already had given me my present?'

This was apparently not what John had expected him to say because he opened and closed his mouth several times before managing to speak.

'The... the magnifier? You broke yours during our last case. I thought it would be best for you to have a new one before the next case arose. It was like a last minute gift.'

Sherlock knew that the specific brand of magnifiers he liked to use was very hard to find. This meant that John must have spent quite some time fighting the beastly Christmas shopping-crazed hordes to buy one.

'Why not giving me the book earlier instead?'

'The book was more... personal.' John didn't know how to say without sounding overly mushy that he hadn't wanted the others to see what he had so carefully chosen for Sherlock.

'Indeed.'

'Look, about that...'

'Are you going to tell me that my deductions about your gift are wrong?'

John realised he couldn't win. If he told Sherlock he was wrong, Sherlock would see through his lie and know for sure that he had been right. He couldn't decide if he wanted to turn back time and not come across this book. He hadn't foreseen that because of it Sherlock would be able to see what himself hadn't quite put into clear thoughts yet.

'I'm... I'm sorry about this. I know how you loathe anything related to sentiment. If I had known... If I had realised that my Christmas present would betray me, I wouldn't have..."  
John rubbed his face in sheer frustration, both his hands ending up in his hair. When he looked at Sherlock again, he was leaning forward, his chin on his joined hands, elbows resting on his knees. He was staring at him with a look of puzzlement on his face.

'The fact that I have deduced that you arbour romantic feelings for me seems to distress you.'

'Of course it does!'

'Why?'

'Because you... I can't believe I have to explain this to you. For such a brilliant man you can be incredibly stupid sometimes!'

'Could you please try to explain without insulting me in the process?'

'I don't want to lose what we have, because it's working so well.'

'I do agree that sharing this flat has been very beneficial to both of us.'

'Oh.'

John stood up and backed away a little, feeling immediately cold. He didn't know if it was because he was farther from the fire's warmth, because he was no longer sitting close to Sherlock or because of what the detective had just said.

'I can see I've upset you. Why?' Sherlock stood up too.

'You...' John took a deep breath, his eyes closed. Sherlock had labelled that face as 'John is really frustrated with me and is trying not to resort to violence'. 'To you we only are sharing a flat.'

'Don't be absurd,' Sherlock said with a dismissive hand gesture. 'Of course not.' His eyes captured John's for the longest time, much longer than the looks exchanged after an exhilarating chase or a well-solved case. The looks they never talked about. 'Of course not. I thought you knew this.'

John felt something strange spreading over him. It was as electrifying as a rush of adrenaline, but very, very different at its core. He had never felt more alive since meeting Sherlock and sharing his life in every way he could. He just couldn't lose this.

'I don't want to lose what we have because of what you've just discovered, Sherlock. I don't want things to change.'

Sherlock stepped forward to stand well into John's space. 'Wrong, and wrong.'

'What? Sherlock, now isn't the time to...'

'I've known for a while you were attracted to me, John. Your Christmas gift showed the depth of your feelings. As you can see, my knowing didn't change anything. As for your wish of things remaining the same, it is a bit contradictory. You _do_ want things to change.'

It took John's brain a moment to catch up with the fact that Sherlock's face was incredibly close to his and that he was going to... John abruptly stepped back.

'It's all a game to you, isn't it? Verifying your deductions, are you?' Damn, he had tried for icy cold but his voice was just this side of shaky. He looked up. Sherlock's face was completely blank. John had never seen that face when they were alone together. It was the face Sherlock wore when Donovan sometimes cut a bit too close.

Sherlock Holmes had just tried... The man the others saw as unfeeling, the man who had once told him he was married to his work had tried to kiss him, and he had _really_ meant it.

It was John's turn to invade Sherlock's personal space. 'Why do you have to be so bloody tall?' he said just before reaching up, putting a hand on Sherlock's nape and guiding his head down. He just had the time to glimpse surprise in the ever fascinating eyes before finally bringing the luscious mouth down on his. Then he felt a grin as he opened Sherlock's lips with his, and his body was encircled by wiry arms and pulled flush against Sherlock's.


End file.
